Fiction.The old house

The Old House.
Growing up in a small town I was always fascinated by an old wooden Villa set among bush beside a small stream.
My two best friends and I would often explore the surrounding undergrowth hoping to catch a glimpse of the old white bearded hermit who lived there. Not many people had seen him for years; he had his groceries delivered to a large box down near the road.
Stories were often told about the hermit’s family being prosperous farmers and died a long time ago, now the farmland had returned to natural bushland.
The Villa caused us three boys’ lots of curiosity, we were always planning ways of getting closer and not being seem. It was built of rough sawn timber, pealing paint, a wooden shingle roof and little windows around the top floor, a huge old chimney took up half of one side of the building and there seem to always be smoke coming out.
Our parents were always telling us not to go near the old house because the man could be dangerous as he had a mental problem.
This only made us more curious and we snuck away whenever we could.
One late afternoon, we ventured closer, suddenly the door opened and the old man came out and said, “would you all like to come closer so he could talk “ We put on a brave face and slowly walked towards him, he smiled and said, “ I have often seen you all looking at the house and thought maybe you would like to come inside to explore it,”. We were all scared but our curiosity overruled our fear, the old man smiled as he invited us in.
The first thing I notices was the dirt floor in the sitting room, the large fireplace, the beautiful dark mahogany furniture, everything looked so clean and tidy, scatter rugs covered most of the floor and the walls had lots of very old photographs. The next room was a study with a large desk and rows of books along the walls. The dining room had an enormous wooden table and a large ornamental kerosene lamp on it, the kitchen was very primitive, a large sink with brightly polished brass taps, of course nothing electrical, just another huge fireplace with an old kettle hanging on a hook. I asked the old man, “ Where do you cook? He answered, ‘ In big cast iron pots which hang over the fire,”
Our new friend took us upstairs and showed us the three bedrooms, again all neat and tidy, more lovely furniture and a lamp in each room. “ I asked him, “ where is the bathroom and toilet,?” he laughed, “ I put a big tin bath in the kitchen and fill it from water I boil on the fire, it is nice and cosy in the wintertime,” “ Oh, and the toilet is in a little shelter outside.”
“You ask a lot of questions,” the old man said to me, “ I have always been that way, my parents keep telling me to shut up,” He laughed and said, “ I can understand their reason.”
My friends were a little frightened and just followed us around at a safe distance; I had more questions to ask. “ Why do you live here by yourself and where are your friends, it must be very lonely for you.?” “ Years ago when my parents died the people of the town said I killed them, it wasn’t proven but they used to say horrible things like, I should be in a mental institution,” “ how did your parents die?” They both had German measles, there was an epidemic going on after the war and no proper medicine, and they got pneumonia and died here,”
“ That is a terrible thing to do to you, so that’s why you don’t go into town or speak to people,?” “ The kind man at the grocers shop calls here once a month and takes my order for food and delivers it to my mail box, he has the authority to get the cash from my bank .”
“Well, I think you are a very nice man, I don’t care what other people think, what do you chaps have to say,?” they all agreed and we thanked the old chap and promised to return and tell him what is happening around the town.
The three of us decided not to say a word to our parents, not for a while anyway. We started to gather information and very discretely asked people what they knew about the old man, we got the same answers that have been for years, they didn’t want to discuss him.
My friends and I decided that all the towns people were condemning the poor old man all because of gossip, I said to them, “ lets start doing something about clearing his name, first I guess we had better tell our parents. “ amazingly they agreed, and promised to help us and were proud that we wanted to do something good instead of mischief.
After door knocking around the town, my father decided to mention the problem at the monthly council meeting. A letter was put in the larger towns newspaper explaining the sad life of a fellow neighbour.
Soon the towns people started to realise they had been listening to gossip all these years and decided to try and make amends for their ignorance. Firstly, short visits, and then they started to invite him to gatherings and Sunday meals.
The grocer was so happy that at last his dear old friend was being included in the community and started a working bee to help clean up the land and a local carpenter offered to put in a wooden floor, an old cast iron stove was installed and later electricity was added.
Everything was happening far to quick for the old man but he was so happy now that he was included in social outings and soon developed lots of friends.
Us three friends always stopped by to see him and ask if there was anything that we could help him with, mostly he said,” no thank you boys, your visits are all I need along with your friendship”
One day after school we decided to take our old friend some wild mushrooms we had picked, there was no answer to our knocking, I opened the door and was shocked to see him slumped over the table, we all rushed to see what was wrong, he was so still, I touched his hand and it was cold,
We all missed our friend very much but he will never be forgotten in the small town, he had somehow made everyone more friendly and helpful to each other; his impact was so that a tree was planted in the town square and a plaque beneath it read.
“A Fine Gentleman, we ask to be forgiven”.